Deadsight Session
by WhyCan'tIHaveNiceThings
Summary: "Put out that cigar, kid." Jesse smirked. Years ago, Overwatch was decimated by a secret organization. These two men, Jesse McCree, ex-Blackwatch agent, and Jack Morrison, former Overwatch leader are still hunted by Talon, pair up and seek to dispense justice working as bounty hunters and vigilantes. Uploaded on Archive of Our Own as well.
1. Recording 1: Ugetsu

**We sincerely hope you enjoy this beautiful little thing titled: Ugetsu.**

 **In Japanese, it means:**

* * *

The desperado looks down at the tombstone. Arlington. Here lies Jack Morrison. A hero to us all. He was alone, in the clouded, rainy day of solace. Black suit and tie. The water pitter patters on the brim of his hat.

"I know you're kickin', you bastard."

His prosthetic hand goes to shield the flame of the engraved lighter in his hand, bringing the fire up to the cigarillo. Embers engulf the end. Eyes closed, letting the cloud of smoke out in a puff.

"Put out that cigar, kid."

Jesse smirks.

Fists fly through the air, a silhouette on the wall to next to him. A boxer's stance, jabs and welts onto the bag in front of him.

"Hey, it's ready!", he hears from the living room.

The cowboy stops, and rolls his shoulders back. His stomach growls. "Bout done myself, partner, comin'!" He walks over to the rack beside the door, splashing water on his face with a bottle, wiping it off with a towel. McCree still feels droplets of perspiration on wild strands of his brown hair as he fits on his tank top, heading to the lounge.

"What's cookin'?"

The veteran turns to face him from the sizzling pan. "Eggs and steak."

"..."

"Younis Yousef. He's our next target, arms dealer, just like you back then."

McCree purses his lips, looking at the platter served in front of him.

"Hey, Jack-"

"Two days ago, he was in a standoff with his gang and HSI. Killed most of them, even his own guys, then ran off."

"You don't call meatless eggs 'n' steak… eggs and steak. Do you?"

"Are you even listening?" Morrison pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "It's like this when you're broke", he explained. "They say he's-"

"What the devil happened to cash we got from last week's bounty?", the desperado interrupted.

The older of the two sighs, gritting his teeth together. "The repair bill for the bar you shot up, the tab for the said bar, and the medical bill for the sheriff you accidently put a bullet in… killed the dough!"

Jesse's eyes opened wide, stuttering and stammering. "L-look, it wasn't my fault that he happened to be in the way!"

Seventy Six sighs, palm against his face. Annoyance is written across all those wrinkles of his. "He's in Cairo. Wanted alive."

"That's a long ways from here. Don't feel like it."

"The beef there is really tasty."

The commotion of a busy street filled the air, crowds walking down the dusty road with expensive hovercars and camels going down the road. A sweltering sun beat down on the two bounty hunters as they walk. McCree's mostly covered by a poncho. His general appearance would've blended in, except the whole concealment part was marred by his cowboy hat. Morrison opted for a more traditional garb, knowing that anyone would be able to recognize the visor from anywhere, he went with a brown shemagh to cover the lower portion of his face and shades.

"You look absolutely ridiculous." Jack says.

Jesse grins. "Won't notice a thing." Eyes flick over to a group of ladies, shooting them a winning grin and finger gun.

"Hey, Romeo," the senior slaps the back of his partner's head, "keep it on the prize." McCree rolls his eyes.

"I'll be heading to the police for clues", the commando says.

"I'll be going to see Farid, then."

"How you even listen to that old tin can, I don't know."

Both their headsets flicker to life. A whistle goes out of McCree's lips.

"Such a mellow song. What's the name again?", 76 asks.

"Ugetsu. Art Blakey."

"Ugetsu… what's it mean?"

"It means… fantasy."

* * *

"Look, this is real mystic and dandy… but y'all got anythin' for food?" Jesse sat crosslegged, a puff coming out from his cigar.

The omnic in front of him did not answer.

"Even oil?", the man huffed out.

"The Caliph of Spears will be soon to come. That is what I forsee." That caught McCree's attention.

"A kingpin, huh."

"You. Flying Ocelot, and Grounded Snake, will catch the Caliph."

"Ocelot?"

"They are proud animals, never willing to let a prey escape."

"Snake?"

"The one who has been rejected out of Eden."

McCree blinks.

"You will meet a Spider. She will mark one of you for death."

"Already died once. Met an angel."

"You take women for granted."

The former agent gets up, tapping the end of his cigar into the ashtray.

"Thanks, partner." He tosses a couple coins on the pillow in front of him.

* * *

Morrison looked at his darkened eyes in the restroom mirror, a hand ghosting over his chin. Those scars of old still mark his face, taking off the shades. White hair. He turns his head to the side, looking at a cut. Ever since he's been running vigilante work with McCree, he seemed to age faster than whatever that was pumped into his body was trying to slow down. The door behind opens. The soldier lowers his shades back down. The pistol in his jacket starts to stir.

"You choose very strange meetings for intel, commander."

"Cut me a break, Khaled. I'm not your commander anymore."

The security guard smirks. Jack turns to face him.

"Yousef lost his marbles. Making threats towards the officials. Just took on a group of mercs the other day."

Jack groaned. "You men can't even take him on yourself?"

"Brass is too scared to lift a finger. He has something, something he picked up from his last raid on an HSI armory. Rumors say he's in the higher districts, closing deals before he ditches."

"Hm." Jack went to leave.

"Oh, and one last thing, Ja-"

"Seventy Six."

"Seventy Six.", the guard mocked. "Ana is watching over you."

"It's pointless watching over a phantom." Memories of their last encounter in Egypt flashed back. The three of them.

* * *

The soldier's shadow loomed over the ranger sleeping in the hammock. "Napping on the job."

McCree opened his eyes, raising the brim of his hat. "I was having a good dream."

"How peaceful. Catch the rest of it back on the VTOL. My informant told me he's closer than we think. They'll sell off their stock, and get the hell out of Egypt."

"Better catch 'em before they do."

The dealer sat inside the musty old bar, quietly nursing on his beer. A man came up. Eyes flicked towards to the person. His hat tipped down to cover his face, the rest of his body adorned with a red poncho. In his left hand was a briefcase.

"Yousef", he simply called. "Been lookin' for you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Fifteen hundred."

"Brother, that's like half the cost!"

"I'll pay the rest later."

"I don't have a later, Mister John Doe."

"Fine. Show me first." The vaquero wagged a finger.

Yousef smirked. "Alright, then." He glanced around. Only man was the bartender, who gave an intimidated expression, but briskly walked off. The arms smuggler's hand reached into his jacket, grabbing for a gun that wasn't there. "What the-"

"Lookin' for this?" The stranger's hat tipped up, revealing a smug McCree. A pistol bounced up and down in his hand. Younis scowled, knocking over his seat to run, only to be stopped by the butt of 76's pulse rifle.

"Can't see everywhere all at once."

The sound of a car stopped abruptly outside, door opening and footsteps rushed. A scream from a lady was heard, as guns clicked and got ready into position. Yousef's gang. Bullets pierced through the wooden walls of the restaurant, glass flying. The two men ducked for cover, while the arms dealer ran off through the back.

"Dammit, Jesse, get after him, I'll deal with these guys!"

The cowboy nodded, crawling under before getting up to chase after the man.

Morrison threw off his sunglasses and popped up from the counter, letting a hail of pulse fire out from the barrel of his gun.

* * *

Younis threw a slugger at the man refueling his car, knocking the unfortunate soul out in one single hit. He pushed him out of the way as he hijacked the ride, but before he can even start it, a bullet penetrates the window behind him, hitting the rearview mirror. McCree was in pursuit, running. Gangsters behind him follow, firing wildly into the streets. The prey speeds off.

"Jack, you in there?! He's getting away!"

"They're dealt with! I'll pick you up ahead at the plaza up ahead!"

He sprints, only to be stopped by a Jeep at the corner. 76 kicks the passenger door open. "Get on." The gunslinger tumbles into the car, and it speeds off after the bounty. He breaks the windshield with a robotic fist, firing potshots after the man.

"We need him alive!", Jack growls, turning up to max speed. Jesse's deadeye looks through the sight of the gun, tracking where the bullet would go through and stop the hoverengine. A clasp of thunder resounds, as the lead hits its mark, stopping the car to skid along the ground, rolling and tumbling. The two men exit, pointing their guns at the bloodied arms dealer. The commando practically rips him out from the car.

"Gotcha." Jesse smirks, looking at the scoundrel.

He tries to get up, only to be stopped by the sole of Morrison's boot.

"I'll walk, you hear! I got my sources inside and out, how do you think I get supplied? They'll bail me, assholes!"

"You'll walk with a limp." The veteran brings the injured man up by the collar, sneering. "Come on, Jesse, cops are comin' soon. Prefer if they didn't catch us this time for public disturbance."

* * *

"Te voilà." The shot rings through the air, the bullet making a nice clean hole in the captured dealer's head. "Beautiful", her voice whispers.

Jesse and Jack look down at the corpse, then back up where the round came from. Morrison drops the body, grabbing his gun laid down on the ground. He starts to lay hell towards her position. McCree presses the trigger, which would've been a well placed shot, only to discover he's out of bullets. The sniper chuckles lowly to herself, unscathed as she swings herself away.

"This is a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation!" The cowboy yells, throwing down his hat.

76 can only stare at where the sniper's perch was. "She was waiting for us."

"Dammit, I don't care, all that work for goddamn nothin'!"

The soldier grabbed him by the shoulder. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

In the end, the two vigilantes ended up making the news, like the numerous countless times. Gunfire on the streets of Cairo, infamous arms smuggler dead at the hands of two reckless outlaws. However, the duo reaped a small portion of the award in the end, Helix was at least grateful enough to give them half's worth.

Fists collided with the punching bag, droplets of sweat flying through the air. A heated, but calculated fury was given in each strike. With a last punch, Jesse knocked off the punching bag off the chain, leaving him looking down at it, huffing.

"Hey, McCree, it's ready!"

Jesse walks over from his training session, although with an brooding mood as evidenced by the weight of his footsteps and pursed lips.

"What's cookin'?"

Morrison looks over at him. "Steak and eggs."

"...There's only steak."

"You are so ungrateful nowadays. Eat up."

* * *

 **Fantasy.**


	2. Recording 2: Misty

The restaurant was hectic and lively with rich businessmen with their trophy wives, playboys who looked to pamper their women, and government officials. Tables lined with snow white cloth, an expensive crystal chandelier in the middle of the room. Laughter, cheap talk, clatter of plates, and the scraping of spoons and forks reverberated throughout the dining hall, over the sound of a rather timid piano. The chefs in the back busily labored to prepare meals, with shrimp and lobster sizzling on the pan, along with cuts of beef being seasoned. Two men sat a table on the far end of the room, having a view of all these people gathered to show off what they're willing to spend their wealth on.

"Excuse me sir, there is no smoking allowed on the premises." A waitress turned her nose up at the man with the hat. The stench of tobacco wafted in the air around him. The smoker sighed out the cloud that billowed in his mouth, reluctantly complying. He took out the cigarillo from his lips, burning the end of it onto his prosthetic palm, then crushing it and tossing behind him with little care. The unfortunate woman who was eating shrieked when she saw the ashy cigar had ended up in her filet mignon. The cowboy chuckled. The waitress sneered at him, shaking her head as she walked briskly away, the sound of her heels giving a muffled click against the carpeted floor. The man turned to his partner who tried to ignore the little exchange. His face was obscured behind a tablet, finger flicking idly across the projection, going through meal after meal with a dissatisfied expression. The younger of the two looked down at his own menu.

"You keep that up, and we'll be kicked out before we can get our sights on her", Jack cautioned, with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

McCree shrugged, lips curving downwards into a frown. "No smoking my ass…", he grumbles, looking off to the side as he saw others smoking. "Look at half the people in this place, why don't she?"

The soldier can only roll his eyes. "Maybe it's the getup", he suggests. Sure enough, the ranger has his typical crimson serape and hat.

"Hey, I'm wearin' somethin' nice under this", Jesse tried defending himself. He averted his gaze to the tablet on the table, tapping to go to the cocktail and wine menu. "At least I ain't wearin' those stupid glasses indoors."

"Keep it sober, McCree", Morrison grumbled, changing the subject. He finally settled on a rather expensive meal, much to the cowboy's displeasure.

"What the hell, Jack, we're on a budget!", the Western man conveyed his irritation. "What's so good about that stuff, anyway?"

"Shark fin soup is a delicacy in China, been eaten by high ranking officials, emperors, kings and what not. It got into an ecological low some sixty years ago, making it expensive. Since they've sorted it out with fisheries and stuff like that, it's still sold nowadays, but it's still touted as fancy and the price hasn't dropped a bit."

"How'd it end up in France?"

"Beats me."

"How's it taste?"

"Like nothing."

Jesse sighed. "That ain't gonna do me any good. Might as well go with the steak." He looked up from the menu, seeing Jack was looking off to side, looking for their bounty. The cowboy's lips split into a cheeky grin. "Real awful nice of you to be treatin' me out to this date, y'know."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, kid." Despite himself, 76 chuckled. Cherchez la femme. Look for the woman. Eventually, the waitress came by with their drinks. A simple water for the veteran. His face contorted into that of a disappointed look as he saw McCree with a glass of wine. "Jesse, I said-"

"Look, you would want to be drunk here too, jus' look at the people around us." With that remark, he sipped on the burgundy liquid, not really minding much of the taste as he did with getting buzzed. Too bad his blood was liquor at this point..

The soldier sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Maybe it would've been for the better had Gabe just left him. He gulped down the thought away with his water. Jesse was a valuable person, back then and now. Maybe he had his grievances with him, sure, but he had proved himself better, not just some lowlife criminal, but a legendary gunslinger loyal to the cause of justice. Lord knows what would happen to him if he was alone. Probably go out in a blaze of glory.

"Hey, eyes open, there she is."

76 was shaken out of his thoughts, eyes behind the shades flicking over to the doorway. Lo and behold, there she was. Beautiful and deadly as ever, dressed in a simple black dress that complemented her unnatural blue skin fairly well. Stiletto heels tapped on the floor, a sway in her hip as she was guided towards her table. Eating alone. How melancholic.

"Game plan, old man?" Jesse smirked at his fellow bounty hunter.

"Same as we discussed it."

McCree sheepishly smiled.

"Provide the distraction, I'll chase after her."

With a grin, Jesse downed the rest of his drink and got up from his seat, red scarf in tow. He tapped the piano player on the shoulder, whispered something into his ear, and dropped a wad of cash into his hand. Albeit with skepticism, he let him on. McCree looked at the ivory and ebony keys. "Alright, let's see if those days playin' off my tab at the saloon really paid off." He was rusty, but he began to play.

"Look at me," The Southern accent caught the attention of almost everyone in the room. "I'm as helpless as a kitten up a tree…"

Seventy Six smirked. The gunslinger had never failed to surprise him. Getting up, he silently made his way to the secluded table where Widowmaker was sitting at. She was watching the cowboy with a passive look on her eyes, sipping on her wine. Jack felt inclined to sit.

"Enjoying the show?"

Her eyes darted towards him. "I suggest you leave, monsieur."

"In vino, veritas, madame."

"And I feel like I'm clinging to a cloud. I can't understand…" His drawl and words were slurred, still buzzed from the small intake of alcohol, but it didn't matter. Most eyes were on him anyway.

The woman's eyes narrowed, and she put down the glass. "Age quod agis."

"Age. Fac ut gaudeam." Under the table, a safety clicked off.

Nonchalance, LaCroix took her glass, sipping on the rest of the drink.

"We'll have a little talk." Jack gestured his head to go outside.

"...I get misty while holding your hand." A small short snippet. The patrons clapped for Jesse. He took a small bow, blowing the ladies a kiss afterwards.

With a vexed face, the rest of the crimson liquid went down. The small glass seemed to crack under her fingers. Amelie got up and strode over to the exit. Morrison followed after her, the barrel of the pistol to her back. As they neared the exit, he paused. The commando steeled his gaze, pressing the barrel up to her head. "Go-" The spider kicked behind into his gut with a stiletto, and began to run, kicking off the shoes. Jack growled, pulling out the sharp heel. He ran back into the restaurant and grabbed the cowboy's hand, to the shock of many of the customers tipping him. "We have to split, come on McCree!"

"Wait, I ain't cashed the tips in yet!"

The two ran off through the streets of St. Denis, Jack fixed on his mask as they sprinted. "Look, I'll get the ride, you keep on after her!" Jesse split off in the intersection, as Morrison narrowly dodged and jumped over cars, pursuing the assassin. The suit jacket flew off, revealing his holstered pistol and magazines, along with a slung rifle. He knew better than to fire into the crowds. Widowmaker threw anything behind her, people, chairs, tables, all of which 76 stumbled through.

McCree's boots skidded as he rounded the corner of the parking lot. He fiddled with the keys for a second, finally getting it to start up. Giving it a rev, the motorcycle roared up the incline and made a sharp turn left, weaving through the traffic. Several shots went up in the air to disperse the crowds of people. She took a right. The bike left black marks on the road, as he turned and followed after her again, driving it near to the sidewalk she was running on. Finally, he jumped off and tackled her, while the vehicle crashed its way into a cafe.

By the time Morrison got there, Jesse in a stranglehold. Widowmaker crossed her arms over his neck gripping hard on his collar to cut off the supply of oxygen. His face was turning purple, struggling, kicking and squirming. He kneed her in the ribs, throwing her back. She kicking to hit his chin, only to be stopped by a hold by her sides, and a sudden throw down onto the pavement. LaCroix groaned as she attempted to get up, scratching the side of Jack's face. The soldier took an arm around her neck as the other one snaked around her armpit and his hand pushed on the back of her head, eventually getting her to pass out. He let her unconscious form fall down to the ground with a thud, and looked over at Jesse, whose hands still grabbed his own throat, heaving heavily. Sirens were coming in the distance. Give it thirty seconds, and the police would be swarming on all the three. Morrison offered a hand to Jesse, which he graciously took. "Car's still back at the restaurant", the ranger said, finally catching his breath.

Morrison grunted, looking around. The tactical visor showed several heat signatures converging on their position. "You take her, I'll get out of here myself. Meet back up at the car."

The cowboy nodded, picking back up his hat and serape, and hoisting an insensate Amelie bridal style.

Jack waited, then faced the cop cars almost crashing into him. He cleared the jump as the cruiser hit the wall, and began running.

The small hum of the engines emanated throughout the lower part of the aircraft. The spider slowly let her eyes open, gasping slightly for air. Her back and arms were sore, strained and tense. Metal cuffs around her hands. Defeat. No matter. Only a hindrance before she can back to Talon. The femme fatale didn't bother squirming. She'd deal with them later.

Jesse sat far from her on the blue padded corner. Morrison was up on the cockpit, adjusting their course. McCree's boots were on the table along with a magazine on saddles and horses in his hands. Cards were scattered. The global map in the middle marked their destination. Lyon, France. They were going to hand her over to Interpol.

"Walk my way, and a thousand violins begin to play…", he softly murmurs. He doesn't seem to know that she's stirred up, until his eyes slowly move to see her. He can't tell if she's glaring, or just astonished.

"Sleep tight?"

"No thanks to your driving, imbécile."

* * *

 ***In vino, veritas: In wine, truth.**  
 ***Age quod agis: Watch what you do.**  
 ***Age. Fact ut gaudeam: Go ahead. Make my day/Make it that I might be glad.**


End file.
